


The Doors Here Only Open One Way

by missmichellebelle



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Soul Eater, Grim Reapers, M/M, Partnership, Shinigami
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-17 22:58:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7289437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmichellebelle/pseuds/missmichellebelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Your brother killed your father,” Laurent states plainly. “And ate his poor, innocent soul.”</p><p>(or: that Soul Eater AU nobody wanted or asked for! <3)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Doors Here Only Open One Way

**Author's Note:**

> when you get into two new things at once and your brain is like, "hey! combine them!" and then you have to.
> 
> you just have to.
> 
> also: hello CP fandom. lol. quite a fic for a debut. I'm sorry. I promise to write something not so niche for this fandom at some point.
> 
> BUT for what it is, I like it. it was fun. and isn't that the point of fic, in the end? (sure.)
> 
> \---
> 
> if you have no idea what Soul Eater is and happened to click on this fic out of curiosity/the kindness of your heart, here's what you need to know:
> 
> the academy: the DWMA, a school for youngsters who are essentially training to capture wayward human souls as assigned by Lord Death (the Grim Reaper, if you will).
> 
> Meister: the youngsters as previously mentioned. generally human. wield weapons.
> 
> weapons: humans born with the ability to transform into a particular weapon (a scythe, a sword, a gun, etc.). when paired with a Meister, the power of their souls amplifies. they eat human souls, but usually only the wayward ones they are sent to collect (otherwise bad things happen).
> 
> Death Scythe: a weapon that has eaten 99 wayward souls and a witch's soul. can be wielded by Lord Death himself. the witch's soul grants it immense and unique power.
> 
> (and I think that's it for the vocab lesson - that should be enough to get you curious minds by, at the very least??? x_x)

“I don’t understand.”

This much is clear by the way the giant’s eyebrows furrow, but Laurent refrains from stating as much.

“You want to be partners?” The furrow deepens. “With me?”

Akielos forces eye contact with him, and Laurent holds it, arms crossed tightly across the front of his body as he leans against the balcony railing.

“I believe that’s the proposition I made, yes.” He shifts his weight, resting more of it against the hewn stone behind him, mouth pulled taut. Maybe it was a poor decision, after all. There are certainly other weapons at the academy that Laurent could choose—perhaps even better prospects, if he put in the research and the time. Many of them are young, malleable, and he could easily shape them into whatever would benefit him most as a Meister.

Damianos Akielos is none of those things. His soul is set, steady and certain in its honest ways, and Laurent can see the light and breadth of it, like a beacon beneath all of that dark skin. It’s so whole and untouched, perfectly round, like the soul of a child—a wonder, considering what he knows about Akielos. What he’s heard in whispered rumors, and what he’s discovered through his own means.

Perhaps Laurent would have an easier time in his endeavor to recruit Akielos as his partner had he not mercilessly expressed his distaste for any weapon that was not a scythe—in fact, he had, quite coldly, turned away every single weapon that had so far sought him as a partner that was not a scythe, Akielos included.

Back in those early, rudimentary days of the academy, when everything was elementary basics and battle strategies written in books. It had been silly, then, when Akielos had come to him with a big hand to shake and an even bigger grin on his face, and had propositioned Laurent to be his partner. Top of their class at the academy, it was not Laurent’s first offer, despite how far away they were from actually requiring such contracts.

He’d nearly spit at Akielos in disgust.

“ _I am a Scythe Meister_ ,” he had said, scornfully. “ _What makes you think I would degrade myself by taking a sword as my weapon?_ ”

It makes it harder, now. Not only for Laurent to temporarily give up having a scythe as a weapon, but to convince Akielos to be his replacement.

He wishes there were someone else.

“Why?” Akielos asks, and his confusion darkens to something colder—it makes Laurent feel slightly impressed, and perhaps a little less desolate. If he’s capable of such looks, there might be some promise there, after all. “If I recall, you’re a Scythe Meister. And I’m no scythe.”

“Yes, I’m _well_ aware of that.” Laurent’s eyes slide to examine the sparse balcony where he had Akielos meet him, feigning boredom and resignation.

“Wasn’t that your reasoning for not being my partner before?”

 _Yes_ , Laurent doesn’t say, because it’s seems pointless to answer a question Akielos already knows the answer to. It’s also the reason that, once Laurent achieves his ends, he has every intention of ending his partnership with Akielos and becoming the Scythe Meister he was born to be.

“Before being the optimal word there.” Laurent’s gaze slides back to Akielos.

“So what changed?”

Laurent considers the truth for a second. _His_ truth. Because the only thing that has changed since he snubbed Akielos’ original request is what he’s discovered. Something that he, unfortunately, has no way of revealing to anyone of importance or action in his current position. For that, he needs power, and the greatest way to achieve power (without sacrificing his soul in any fashion) is to become a Three-Star ranking Meister.

For which he, unfortunately, needs a Death Scythe.

Honestly, the entire ranking system is heavily weighted against Meisters.

Laurent is confident enough in his own abilities and prowess that, in time, he could potentially turn any weapon he partnered with into a Death Scythe. That’s essentially the ultimate goal for any would-be Meister.

But he doesn’t _have_ time. The longer he takes, the smaller his window of opportunity gets. He can’t afford to build a powerful weapon from the ground up.

Which is truly where Akielos comes in. He’s strong—potentially the strongest unpaired weapon there is. Certainly strong enough that, with a few years of focused practice, he has all the makings of a self-wielding weapon. A fact he is clearly blind to, seeing as he has taken no steps towards such a path, but then again, weapons have all of that partnership nonsense drilled into their heads just as much as Meisters do.

On top of that, Akielos has motives for wanting to become a Death Scythe that lie outside the norm, much like Laurent himself. It’s _that_ that Laurent will find in no one else. The fact that Damianos Akielos needs Laurent just as much as Laurent needs him.

“Your brother killed your father,” Laurent states plainly, and feels a trill of pleasure at the roll of sorrowful shock that seems to pass over Akielos’ entire form. It’s a small satisfaction, to see someone so needlessly massive be reduced in so few words. “And ate his poor, innocent soul.”

Akielos grits his teeth, shoulders and neck tensing with anger.

“How _dare_ you—”

“Ah.” Laurent smiles, pressing the tip of his finger to his cupid’s bow. “I wasn’t so sure if the rumors were true, but seeing as you look like a bull ready to charge, I’ll take that as confirmation.”

Akielos looks very much like Laurent had crossed the distance separating them and slapped him clear across the face. An open book—if he’s this easy to lead, Laurent will have no problem keeping his intentions to himself.

“What a shame you could do nothing to avenge him without a competent Meister to wield you,” Laurent comments, as if they are discussing an unfortunately overcast day or the disappointment of burnt toast.

“So that’s it?” Akielos sounds very much like he doesn’t believe it. “You want to _help_ me hunt down my brother and his Meister?”

Laurent gives an acknowledging tilt of his head.

“To what aim of yours?” Akielos asks, crossing his arms, as if _that_ will somehow make him less easier to read.

Perhaps not entirely the dumb brute he seems, then.

“The aim of any Meister,” Laurent responds, almost off-handedly. “To turn my weapon into a Death Scythe and become a Three-Star Meister. To create a Death Scythe worthy of serving Lord Death himself, even.”

“That’s how your brother died.”

The words are like shards of ice piercing Laurent’s skin, and his entire body stills. He keeps his face impassive, but just, and focuses far too closely on the rhythm of his own breathing and the relaxation of the muscles just around his mouth.

“Him and his weapon. They were killed claiming their last soul—the witch’s soul.”

Laurent has to manually relax his hands where they’ve clenched in his fists, and he briefly closes his eyes to regain his full body armor of composure.

“Then perhaps it will satiate your curiosity to know that when the time comes that we must kill a witch, that I have a particular one in mind.” It’s a chore to speak as evenly as he does, to keep his voice from breaking too high or too low. The truth is like a thick, heavy syrup in his throat, and he keeps his chin tilted just so to keep it from spilling out of his mouth. “Both of us on paths of vengeance.”

Akielos considers him for a long minute, and Laurent does not so much as shift his weight under the scrutiny of those dark, searching eyes. Laurent doesn’t fear what he’ll find—anything damning is buried so deeply and so intricately, Akielos’ surface summation won’t even come close to revealing anything that could put him off from the idea.

“You’re wrong,” is what Akielos finally says, and honest surprise flits briefly through Laurent’s eyes before he hardens it back to an impassive stare.

“Am I?” How intriguing.

“My path isn’t about vengeance,” Akielos answers, simply, honestly. He doesn’t even let the thread dangle a little bit. “My brother has broken a fundamental law and eaten a pure human soul. He’s following a road to darkness, and it’s our job as students of the academy to stop him.”

Laurent’s mouth tips up on one side in a cool, assessing smile.

“You might be a bit too pure of soul to resonate with me, Akielos.”

It’s not a real fear of Laurent’s, even if the possibility is there. Laurent believes his will to accomplish his goals is enough to make him willing in their attempts to resonate, but that doesn’t mean Akielos’ own soul won’t reject Laurent’s.

It could very well happen.

It will, if the books are correct, be incredibly painful.

It may also kill him.

“I think, if we are to be partners, you should call me Damen.”

Laurent fights the urge to wrinkle his nose. _Damen_. He supposes it’s not as much of a mouthful as Akielos, though.

“Damen, then.” Laurent holds out his hand, intention clear, and waits for _Damen_ to bridge the space between them. When he does, there’s only a second of hesitation before he’s wordlessly clasping Laurent about the elbow. In the next flash of a second, Damen’s arm is replaced with the leather-bound hilt of a shortsword. It’s heavier than Laurent is expecting, the blade broader than any shortsword he’s ever wielded himself, and he tests the grip in his fingers, waiting for their soul wavelengths to sync or for one to reject the other.

“ _You couldn’t have been something a little more conducive to speed?_ ” Laurent thinks dryly, knowing full well that Damen now has more access to him than anyone else ever has. But Laurent has known that partnering with a weapon would mean opening up his soul and mind to another, and has long since built up the defenses necessary to keep the majority of himself away from prying eyes.

A risk, but one he cannot afford to forego.

“ _A rapier, perhaps?_ ” There is no burning, no pain. As if Damen’s own heart is in the hilt of the sword, Laurent can almost feel their pulses start beating in time. He’s never attempted any sort of resonance before. He knows the theory of it, but books can only take one so far in an art that, at the end of the day, is entirely practical. Therefore the feeling of their soul wavelengths coming together is entirely foreign, like a sharp tightening that all at once relaxes. If Laurent was an ocean, he thinks this is what the ebb and flow of the tide would perhaps feel like.

“ _We’ll just have to train until you can properly handle me._ ”

There’s a glint of something like a reflection in the blade, and Laurent is surprised to see Damen’s face there instead of his own, as if the man himself was standing just over his shoulder.

Because it is decidedly impossible, Laurent does not give in to the urge to check behind him.

“Shouldn’t be difficult,” Laurent mutters, meeting Damen’s eyes in challenge, and then swings him without preamble.

No.

This shouldn’t be difficult at all.

**Author's Note:**

> [read, reblog, & like on tumblr](http://missmichellebelle.tumblr.com/post/146394705725/the-doors-here-only-open-one-way)


End file.
